case, but wholly groundless. Mr. Spencer is the last man to perpetrate a fallacy of this kind. He may be an invalid, but he is clear-headed enough to deal with this subject on its logical merits. When Mr. Schurz, at the dinner, made a reference to "dyspeptic philosophers"—although Spencer is a man of excellent digestion—Mr. Beecher aptly replied that, "at any rate, Spencer's books have no dyspepsia." It seems to have curiously occurred to many that the tables could be turned upon Mr. Spencer by referring to his own case, although for the life of us we can not see how his own experience of the very matter he was treating could have disqualified him from speaking upon it with pertinence and intelligence. But he did not choose to make it a personal matter, although if he had done so it I would have redoubled the force of his argument. Mr. Spencer did undoubtedly break down badly, and long ago, and has suffered the painful consequences of it ever since.
But his invalidism has certainly been of a kind not to affect the clearness, rectitude, and soundness of his thought. His work for a quarter of a century is not only marvelous in its amount, but it is unparalleled in its originality, acuteness of insight, literary finish, and logical stability. No faintest taint can be traced anywhere in his books of the nervous exhaustion of their author. And the abundant reason is, that Spencer has followed his own prescription, and made relaxation, amusement, and recreation, in every form, a daily religious duty. By making work always subordinate to the unbending that is essential to its highest quality, he has proved the value of recreations as tributary, not only to length of life, but to the perfection of work. When, therefore, he spoke to the Americans upon the subject, and warned them of the dangers of their high-pressure civilization, we have no right to assume that there is any personal equation of unhealthiness on his part to be corrected. We are bound to take his advice as a sound thinker of unclouded discernment, and well disciplined in the work of drawing safe conclusions from discriminated facts.
But Mr. Spencer's argument is far from; depending upon breakdown statistics that he may have observed or collected from others. The lesson that he inculcated is broadly derived from his social studies, and from his doctrine of the evolution of society. He pointed out that the social ideals of men are subject to change—that fighting as a universal passion has passed away, and that work as a universal passion has taken its place. In this there has been an enormous improvement, but the existing ideal is not a finality. It remains to take a further step forward by organizing more completely the means of human enjoyment. No advent of a poetical or prophesied millennium is to be expected, but men can nevertheless advance in this life to a happier state. And this becomes an immediate and practical question with every individual. The problem is only to be solved by making rational enjoyment, in larger measure, the object of life, and of each day in life. This is the proper end of knowledge and of work. It is true beyond question that the lives of immense multitudes in this country are narrowed down to the one absorbing gratification of money-getting, to the exclusion of all other gratifications. Of the nobler capacities of enjoyment they know nothing, and they have lost the power of even becoming interested in anything but the purpose that enslaves them. Can this be defended as a normal or satisfactory condition of the individual, or of a society largely composed of such individuals? Work is not an end, nor is study an end: work brings a surplus of means, and study should show how to use it for the most varied gratification—both should be tributary to completer and richer life.
